


homecooked

by sidetone



Series: Entityswap!Martin [2]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Cannibalism, Canon-Typical The Flesh Content (The Magnus Archives), Flesh Avatar Martin Blackwood, M/M, Self-Destruction, Self-Mutilation, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-14 06:55:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28916457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sidetone/pseuds/sidetone
Summary: Looking back, the Flesh had always had a grip on Martin... But only recently has it truly started to manifest.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist (one-sided)
Series: Entityswap!Martin [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1786783
Comments: 5
Kudos: 20





	homecooked

Looking back, maybe the Flesh had always had a grip on Martin. He’d always felt a certain connection to farm animals as a kid- cows, pigs, sheep and so on- more so than any cat or dog. They always looked so peaceful grazing in the fields, sitting out in the sun, never quite alone with their herd surrounding them. He used to feel a little jealous at times, they had always seemed so free despite their fenced-in fields, not having to worry about a single thing in the world. That was how he thought as a young child, anyways. He could vividly recall learning what really happened to them, the slaughterhouse, that his dinner was once a living, breathing creature just like the ones he saw out the car window. It was a bit upsetting at first, but he eventually came to accept it- eating them was really the best thing he could do for them, right? They would be killed regardless, he could at least appreciate what they gave up, make sure they hadn’t died for nothing. It would be such a waste to let it rot, anyhow. 

If he were being entirely honest with himself though, he would say his connection to the animals they fed on only grew stronger with that realization. In a sense, he’d always felt like a sitting cow, just waiting for his turn to be hauled off to the metaphorical butcher. He wouldn’t do anything extraordinary or remarkable with his life, he would continue on quietly, passively waiting for when the world decided to take its last bite out of him. Or maybe above all else, his persistent issues regarding his own body were the strongest indicator.

Still, hindsight is always 20/20. 

It was a rainy Sunday afternoon, the grey skies doing nothing to lighten Martin’s mood. Just his luck that he’d forgotten an umbrella, leaving him cold and wet as he wandered through the grocery store. He always did his shopping on Sundays, and unfortunately it was one of the few times he left the house, aside from going to work of course. It was just routine at this point, going down the same aisles and picking out the same dinners, the same cans, the same cereal. Usually he would find himself lost in daydreams about the domestic bliss of shopping with someone he loved, or even just _for_ someone- but in the last few months, he often found that his mind was… Elsewhere.

He found himself stopped in front of the freezers of meat, paused there for far longer than he’d intended without even grabbing anything. He just stared, his eyes fixed on the rows upon rows of red and pink, the raw beef behind shiny plastic and glass looking more and more appetizing. The longer he looked the hungrier he felt, until… He quickly pulled his hand back when he found himself reaching for a rather large steak, blinking and shaking his head. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d found himself spaced out while shopping, always around the deli or meats, but he wouldn’t give in to whatever odd impulse had come over him. No, he couldn’t afford a steak like that, anyways… He had the strangest fear in the pit of his stomach as he pulled back, like he knew he couldn’t trust himself.

He quickly walked away, trying to hurry up and finish shopping so he could go home. _God, what was going on with him these days…?_ Well, it seemed like he had everything he needed, he should just check out now… It was getting close to the time he usually made dinner, anyways. He tried to just keep himself focused on what he was going to make himself to eat, but as he was in line, he couldn’t help noticing the people around him. There was nothing off about them, really, just ordinary people going about their days, but there was something about the look in their eyes… Glossed over with boredom, not fully aware of everything around them. He couldn’t help feeling like he was standing in a field of livestock, cows just milling about without thinking, never knowing their true purpose in life until…

He snapped out of his thoughts as the line in front of him moved forward, and he paid for and bagged his groceries. Still, the question nagged at his mind… Were humans really all that different from the very animals they slaughtered? His stomach twisted at the thought, nausea wracking his whole body, but he honestly couldn’t tell if it was from disgust at his own thoughts or from hunger. _What was he thinking? No, of course people were different…_ Maybe it was just the horrible things he researched at the institute desensitizing him or something. That had to be it, right?

He tried to brush off his unease as he loaded his bags into the back of his car. At least he had dinner to look forward to… He hadn’t eaten much all day, so he’d probably feel better after he actually ate something. He was excited to get cooking.

Cooking had always been a big part of Martin’s life. In childhood it felt like more of a chore than anything, having to make dinner for his sick mother, but he eventually came to know it as an expression of love. Cooking a nice, hot meal, spending extra time preparing it- that became his way of showing he truly did care about her. She never seemed to appreciate it much, but he never stopped trying. Of course, once she insisted on being moved to a home, he didn’t have anyone to cook for but himself. He still cooked dinner for himself every night, but it was more of a way to fill the time and unwind from a stressful day at work rather than out of care. Maybe that’s why he wasn’t paying much attention as he prepared himself some soup that night, allowing his mind to wander to much stranger places... _Would human meat look all that different from that of animals, he wondered?_

He shook his head again and tried to clear his mind, looking back down at the carrots he was chopping. Still, his mind must’ve been in a haze despite his efforts to focus, because before he knew it, his knife had sliced through the tips of his fingers, cutting through the flesh and bone like butter. 

For a moment, all he could do was stare. The blood was seeping into the cutting board and staining it red, but the longer he watched, he began to realize it wasn’t bleeding nearly as much as it should’ve been, considering he completely severed the tips. It didn’t really hurt, either- there was a dull, aching pain, but that was all. Slowly, he set the knife aside, in a trance as he just watched until eventually the bleeding lessened. _He didn’t feel like himself…_

It was the strangest feeling, seeing his own flesh and blood there on the cutting board. For most, it would be horrifying, and he knew he should be scared or disgusted, but… He felt his stomach growl at the sight, his mouth watering. _He was hungry._ His own meat was as good as any, was it not? His control over himself slipped away as he continued preparing the soup, feeling like he was merely watching himself- or maybe that was just the rational part of him trying to distance himself from the nauseating act he was about to commit. 

_It didn’t matter. No rationalization would make the hunger go away, nothing would satisfy it aside from **flesh.**_

He couldn’t just eat it like this, though, it needed preparation. His once unfocused eyes were sharp and fixed on his food as he removed the bones and nails, and the more preparation it went through, the more it just looked like normal meat, like that of an animal, like food. That’s what it was, wasn’t it? Before he’d fully processed what he'd done, he found himself with a piping hot bowl of soup in front of him, chunks of cooked meat floating in the broth along with the vegetables. The smell filled his apartment, and if he’d had any chance of snapping out of it before he certainly didn’t now. He’d made this recipe countless times, it was something he would make for his mother and himself when he was younger due to how easy it was, so he was no stranger to the scent, but it was completely different this time. He couldn’t quite describe how, but it was so much more appetizing, an entirely new and intoxicating smell- he couldn’t even begin to imagine how good it would taste. 

He lifted the spoon to his lips, his mouth watering. He could practically taste it already. He finally allowed himself to eat, chewing the meat and vegetables slowly to savor the taste. In all honesty, it didn’t taste so different from any other red meat. It was similar to veal in a lot of ways, and if he hadn’t known what he was eating, he would likely assume that’s what it was without a second thought. It had a mild taste, nothing sharp or particularly strong, but it felt so… Right. It was filling in a way that any other meal he’d had simply couldn’t compare to. 

Martin had completely cleaned his bowl in what couldn’t have been more than a couple minutes, faster than he’d ever eaten soup before, almost frantic in trying to get that next chunk of flesh. He just sat there afterwards, staring at the empty bowl, before he slowly began to come back to his senses, his stomach twisting in a knot as he realized what he’d done. Not only had he eaten part of himself, but he… Actually _enjoyed_ it…? 

He felt sick, not caring to put his bowl in the sink before he rushed to the bathroom, practically shoving his fingers down his throat in an attempt to get it out of him. His stomach lurched and tears pricked his eyes as his stomach emptied itself, his throat burning. The taste stuck in his mouth though, despite the vomit. He kept going until all that came up was stomach acid, his breathing ragged and his jaw sore. He had to be sure it was gone. He closed his eyes as he flushed it down, not wanting to look for fear that the bits of finger in the water would somehow look just like the ones on his hands, nails still intact.

He stood up on shaky legs, his trembling becoming so violent that he hardly made it to his bed before his legs completely gave out, collapsing onto the mattress and curling into a ball. He would clean the kitchen tomorrow, but after what he just did, he couldn’t stand the sight of his own blood. He wasn’t sure what exactly it was he was afraid he’d do, but… He couldn’t trust himself around it, not right now. It was hard to sleep, the dull, throbbing pain in his fingers and the sheer disgust with himself made it hard to relax, but he gave into his exhaustion soon enough, fading out of consciousness.

\---

Martin woke up after a fitful night of sleep, still feeling exhausted despite going to sleep rather early. His stomach hurt… He didn’t typically remember his dreams, but there were blurry images of a slaughterhouse, cutting into his own arm like a steak, serving it to… He tried his best not to think about it as he bandaged his fingers and got ready for work that morning, or think about anything that had happened the previous night for that matter. He would try to forget about it the best he could, he decided, though the missing fingertips would be a constant reminder, unfortunately for him. He just hoped none of his coworkers asked about it… 

All things considered, the day was coming along fine by that afternoon. He got a few questions about the bloodied bandages, sure, but he just brushed it off as an accident he had in the kitchen. Technically not a lie, anyways. It wasn’t until around lunch that he noticed his own strange behavior. He had been so focused on his research that he hadn’t noticed he’d been gnawing on his free hand until he tasted the blood in his mouth. He quickly jerked his hand away, seeing the deep bites he’d left all over his hand, the one around his thumb dripping red.

Strangely enough, it still didn’t hurt, and he again found that he liked the taste. It tasted more savory than metallic somehow, and it horrified him. _What the hell was happening to him…?_ Whatever the cause, he had to bandage this up as well before someone saw… Teeth marks were going to be a lot harder to explain, after all. 

While observing his hand, he noticed that the fingers he’d cut seemed a little bit… Longer? He squinted and brought them closer to his face, and that definitely appeared to be the case, but he didn’t know how that would be possible. It must just be his mind playing tricks on him… Not much of a stretch considering his mental state these days.

Still, despite eventually having bandages covering both his hands, the subconscious gnawing continued throughout the week, no matter how hard he tried not to. He even found himself chewing on the insides of his cheeks sometimes, and there was an aching hunger in him that just wouldn’t leave. If he didn’t satisfy it somehow he knew he’d end up biting off his thumb at work or something… He knew what he had to do, despite everything in him telling him it was a terrible idea. 

It was Friday night, not even a full week after the first incident, when he found himself in the kitchen once more, staring down at the kitchen knife in his hand. He’d rolled up his sweater sleeve to expose his forearm, tracing the area he planned to cut and chewing his lip nervously. This couldn’t be good for him, but he couldn’t think of any other way to stop his biting at work, and while he could ask his coworkers, well… He was sure the information would find its way to Jon somehow, and he didn’t want Jon to be more suspicious of him than he already was. 

He sucked in a breath through his teeth as he started to drive the blade into his flesh- it was so easy. It _shouldn’t_ be so easy. Logically, he knew that cutting off a chunk of meat from one’s arm should take more strength both physically and mentally, but somehow it’s no harder than cutting through warm butter, the knife gliding along with ease. There’s blood, but it oozes out slowly from the wound. He should be bleeding out right now, considering he can see the white of the bone in his forearm, but something tells him his lightheadedness isn’t from blood loss, but from excitement.

The slab of meat he’s carved off of himself is laid onto the cutting board once he’s done, setting the knife down a bit reluctantly as he went to get bandages. There was a part of him that wanted to just keep cutting, carving more and more off, but he pushed the thought aside for now and focused on cooking. It was already a miracle he wasn’t bleeding out now, so he shouldn’t press his luck with that. It was almost like an oddly shaped steak once he’s done with it, enticingly red in the middle and still bloody as he cut into it with his fork and knife, his stomach twisting in unbearable hunger at the anticipation. He didn’t even notice how hard he was shaking as he lifted the first bite to his lips. 

The taste nearly had him in euphoria, much better than the tiny pieces he’d had in his soup earlier this week. It was bloody and rare and tender- it tasted like the meat of an animal. It had a definitive texture that was almost stringy, but aside from that it was hard to differentiate the taste from that of a calf. His cutting became more and more fast and desperate as he ate more and more, hardly chewing anything by the end as he shoveled the meat into his mouth. He finally got the satisfaction he’d been longing for as he leaned back in his chair, staring down at the bloody plate. The wave of regret wasn’t nearly as strong as last time, completely overpowered by how content and right it felt. _It felt like he should’ve been doing this all along…_

That became habitual for him over the next few months. Every couple weeks, he would eat just a small portion of his flesh, and that would be enough to quell his hunger for a while. The missing chunks were easy enough to hide underneath his long-sleeved sweaters and slacks, and the gnawing went away once he was satisfied, so nobody noticed anything off with him. Nobody paid him much attention, anyways. He even noticed that the tips of his fingers had, slowly but surely, grown back, fingernails and all. It shouldn’t be possible, none of this should be possible, but… Well, he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

He tapped his desk absentmindedly as he stared at his computer screen, just going through the usual motions of his research. This statement wasn’t turning up anything particularly promising, unfortunately… Jon would likely be disappointed. He couldn’t help sighing at that, almost ready to give up, but… No, he just needed to take a break and come back to it. He wouldn’t stop until he had something to show Jon this time… He stood up and stretched a bit, ignoring the dull pain in his legs from recent mutilations, before heading into the breakroom, looking forward to a nice hot cup of tea.

“Oh! Tim, Jon- Hello!” Martin was admittedly a little startled to see the two of them as he entered, as it was usually empty, and Jon especially was typically too… Busy to come in here very often. 

“Ah, Martin! Here for a cup of tea, I’m guessing?” Tim greeted him with that charming smile of his, and while he would normally be happy to talk to Tim, he could feel his chest tightening at this whole situation. 

“Aha, yeah, you know me…” He shrugged, before turning to address Jon, smiling warmly at him. “So, J-” 

“Well, I’ll be going now. There’s still plenty of work to be done.” Jon had cut him off before he could even properly speak to him, and while it didn’t seem intentional, he’d be lying if he said it didn’t hurt just as badly. “I’ll talk to you later, Tim.”

“Yeah, see you later, boss-man.”

“Er… Bye, Jon.”

There was a long pause between the two of them as Jon left, his abrupt exit making them both feel awkward. The pain in Martin’s chest was only growing worse and worse the more he replayed the scene in his mind, how Jon and Tim had been talking before he came, the way they were _looking_ at each other- _He couldn’t stand it._

“Bit rude, isn’t he?” Tim finally broke the silence with a lighthearted comment, hoping to lift the mood of the room. Martin finally broke out of his thoughts with that, giving him a half-smile in response.

“Yeah, I’m sure he’s just stressed, though… Can’t really blame him after everything that’s happened.” Martin sighed, but now that he was looking at Tim… He couldn’t help but notice how different they were, in terms of appearances. Tim was tall and lean, fit from the hiking and rock climbing trips he talked about from time to time. It wasn’t hard to tell that there was well-toned muscle under his skin. Martin on the other hand was anything but lean. He'd always been on the bigger side, something he’d been self-conscious of since his days in school, as the other students had made him painfully aware of it- made him feel like less than human. 

Would Jon look at him the same way if he looked more like Tim? If he was built more like him? The lifelong insecurities he’d nearly managed to forget about came rushing back all at once, the pain in his chest feeling like a twisting knife. He might cry if this happened at any other time, but… No, he knew he could do something about it this time. Something that wouldn’t take months of trying and _trying_ to no avail. He could **fix it** right away this time.

“Uh… Martin? Earth to Martin, you still there, bud?” He jumped a bit as Tim waved a hand in front of his face, before laughing a bit, shaking his head. He hadn’t even noticed he was talking before… 

“Oh, sorry, I really spaced out for a second there…” Martin apologized, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, before quickly making an excuse to leave, despite not even getting the tea he’d come in here for. “Um, anyways, I’d better get back to work-! See you later, Tim!” He turned around before Tim could even respond, swiftly walking back to his office. He couldn’t wait for the day to end so he could go home… He had work to do. 

\---

He stood shirtless in front of the bathroom mirror, shivering at the cool air on his skin. It had been a long time since he’d taken a good long look at himself, at his body, but nothing had changed. He still hated what he saw. Now that he knew how easy it was to carve into himself, though, what was the risk? He hadn’t even come close to bleeding out yet, and with his newly discovered regenerative abilities, well… It was too tempting. He had to at least _try._

The kitchen knife was strangely warm in his hand, the metal he expected to be freezing against his bare skin holding an almost comforting heat as he pressed it into his side. He watched himself in the mirror with a sickening satisfaction as he sliced down his side, a slab of meat hitting the floor with a wet slap. Piece after piece fell from his body, until the tile floor beneath him was stained in a pool of blood, skin, and flesh. He found that he could only slice a very thin layer of skin and fat off of his stomach without actually gutting himself, but it was better than nothing in his eyes- and he made sure to cut as much as he could from his arms, legs, and chest. The warmth of his own blood around his feet was soothing, the sound of more and more being cut away almost becoming rhythmic as he went on. 

He had no idea how long he’d been slicing away for, time completely slipping away from him, but night had fallen by the time he was done. He washed the knife in the sink before finally backing up to look at his full work. He thought he would look better if he just cut it all away, he thought he would feel better about himself, but as he stared at his reflection in the dirtied mirror, he felt nothing. In his own eyes he saw the same dullness he saw in those of livestock, and his body now might even be considered worse than before. Jagged, uneven cuts in some areas had distorted his shape, and with most of the skin gone… He didn’t really look human. He was no closer to getting Jon’s attention than he was before, was he? All of this was for _nothing._

He almost felt like crying, but he couldn’t quite get the tears to leave his eyes. It was never enough. Maybe _he_ would never be enough. Maybe his body would always be a thing of loathing, but… This was progress, wasn’t it? It was a change, and that was better than nothing. Soon the flesh would begin to heal, and hopefully he would look a little less like he went through a meat grinder. He would have another chance. There was room for improvement.

With that thought in mind, he reached for the bandages he’d left by the sink, wrapping the entirety of his torso in white-stained-red. It looked a bit more normal that way, hiding the jagged edges he’d cut into himself. His sudden extreme weight loss might be a cause for concern, but perhaps they’d write it off as not noticing it before, seeing as he often wore big, slightly loose sweaters and he hadn’t been able to do much to his stomach.. He honestly wouldn’t have to change his wardrobe all that much to hide the bloodied bandages and malformed shape. He was far too used to hiding his body.

He was about to leave the bathroom and go to bed when he remembered the piles of flesh on the floor, sighing at the sight. He was exhausted, but he wasn’t one to let good meat go to waste, and just letting the blood sit there and dry certainly wasn’t going to be good for the tile. He left bloody footprints across the apartment as he grabbed his box of plastic bags from the kitchen, bringing them back to the bathroom and neatly packaging every last piece. Strangely none of it had even started to go cold yet, just as warm as it was when it was connected to him. He didn’t pay any mind to it though, storing them all in the freezer for now. It would be enough to last him for months, that was for sure.

After a good couple hours of scrubbing the floor clean Martin finally crawled into bed, letting out a quiet sigh. Despite being no happier with his body than before and how much time he’d wasted, he felt… Content. He was looking forward to being able to eat more often now… The dull pain across his entire body made it no harder to fall into bloody dreams of the slaughterhouse that night, dreams that had long stopped disturbing him at this point. 

\---

Martin couldn’t help smiling as he heated up the lunch he’d packed in the break room microwave, excited to dig in. It had been a few days since he’d carved off so much of himself- it had started to heal at this point, the skin growing back, meaning he didn’t have to keep the bandages on any longer, but he honestly didn’t care much about that anymore. More importantly, seeing how much extra meat he had, he had decided to start packing lunches for himself. Maybe it was a little risky, seeing as some of his coworkers had already found it strange how he’d been able to lose so much weight so fast, but he doubted they’d ever guess what it was. They didn’t talk to him much, anyways.

He sat down at the small table to eat, ready to take the first bite, when an unexpected voice filled the room, causing him to flinch. 

“Martin.” Jon greeted him curtly, glancing over at the food he had in front of him. It clearly drew his attention, and Martin could tell by the look on his face that he was trying to figure out exactly what it was. Still, it seemed like he couldn’t tell, and after a moment he stepped closer, narrowing his eyes in curiosity. “What is that?” 

He could feel his heart drop. Of _course_ it had to be Jon of all people- he’d been pretty nosy as of late, but he still rarely spoke to him when it wasn’t necessary, so why did he have to choose now of all times to get chatty? “Um… I-it’s calf- er, well, veal.” He stumbled over his words, feeling his palms becoming clammy. He had been too ambitious, he’d gone too far- he never should’ve brought it to work. He could practically see the headlines now, _‘Magnus Institute Employee Found Eating Human Flesh’..._

“Oh. I see.” Jon nodded, backing off a little, but it was plain to see that he wasn’t satisfied with that answer. Of course he wasn’t, he never seemed to be satisfied with any of the answers he was given these days… “It just… Smells different from any kind of steak I’ve had, I suppose.”

“Er… Maybe I cooked it wrong? Haha…” Martin tried to shrug it off with a nervous chuckle, but Jon only shook his head at that, and it seemed like he didn’t want to leave this alone for some reason. Maybe his intuition was clueing him in on the fact that something was terribly wrong here.

“No, it… Smells and looks pretty good, so I doubt you screwed it up.” He sighed, almost like he was reluctant to admit that something Martin had made seemed appetizing. There was a moment of silence, and for one hopeful second Martin thought maybe Jon was done questioning him, but much to his dismay, it seemed this wasn’t over quite yet. “... Isn’t veal expensive? Not to mention it’s a little strange to be eating for lunch… Is it some kind of special occasion?” 

“Er… N-no, it’s nothing like that. I just bought a lot of it on sale at a butcher’s shop is all…” He quickly made an excuse, something he was used to after years of lying about the details of his life. “It’s always been one of my favorite foods, and I hadn’t had it in a long time since it’s expensive, like you said, so… I guess I thought I’d just treat myself?”

It was at least convincing enough that Jon seemed to buy it for now, his expression softening slightly. Not enough to be considered anything kind, but it was certainly less of a scowl than it had been before. “I see. Well, enjoy your lunch, then.” The archivist murmured as he turned to leave, but just as he started to move, his stomach growled. Loudly.

There was a long, awkward pause between the two before Martin laughed, picking up his fork again. “Wow, you must really be hungry, Jon.” He was almost relieved that he seemed to have gotten away without any real suspicion on him, but just as he was about to let the moment pass, an idea forced its way to the forefront of his mind- **What if he let Jon eat him?**

To feed someone was just another way to show love, and to be consumed was just another way of _being_ loved, wasn’t it?

He felt sick with guilt- how could he even think of dragging Jon into this fucked up situation he’d brought on himself? But on the other hand, the thought of feeding Jon, the thought of Jon enjoying something he’d made, the thought of Jon enjoying _him…_ His heart was racing as he spoke up again without thinking, his mind consumed with thoughts of _Jon, Jon, **Jon.**_

“Uh, hey, I mean… If you’re really that hungry, uh… You can have some, if you want?” He offered, and he couldn’t tell if he was more excited or disgusted with himself. He could tell Jon was about to reject him, as per usual, but he persisted before he could speak. “Would much rather you just have some now than have you going through my lunch later.” 

It came off as a bit harsher than he intended, and maybe he shouldn’t have even mentioned it, seeing as Tim had already been on Jon’s case about his… Invasive habits, and for a moment Jon looked angry, before he just sighed, the tension leaving his shoulders. His curiosity got the better of him in the end. 

“I wasn’t going to do that, but fine. If you insist.” He huffed, sitting down across from Martin, and he couldn’t help but smile at that, feeling his heart leap in his chest. He’d had so many daydreams about sharing lunch with Jon, and now not only was that coming true, but it felt so much more… _Intimate,_ given the contents of their meal.

“I was just joking, you know…” Martin chuckled again as he pushed the plate towards Jon, almost completely losing interest in eating it himself. As satisfying as his previous meals of himself had been, it was infinitely more exciting to watch the way Jon stared down at the meat, hesitantly picking up the fork before taking a bite. It was hard not to visibly shudder as he watched him chew and swallow, taking in every little movement of his face, every microexpression that crossed his features. It was intoxicating to watch. “So? What do you think?”

“It’s… Very good, Martin.” Jon hesitated a moment before responding, just letting the taste settle in his mouth for a moment. There was something slightly odd about the taste, but nothing he couldn’t just chalk up to cheap meat. It was still delicious despite the faint wrongness of it. He couldn’t help himself from taking another bite, almost on instinct, noticing the other’s stare this time- but again, he could shrug it off. He was likely just looking for approval, as usual. 

“Oh, well, I’m- I’m glad you like it! I, uh, I like to think I’m a decent cook, haha…” Martin’s cheeks had grown a bit red at the compliment, a sheepish grin on his face. This was going so much better than he ever could’ve hoped… He couldn’t help getting ahead of himself, his mind already spinning with thoughts of making this a regular thing, of the two of them always eating lunch together, and perhaps soon Jon wouldn’t just enjoy his taste, but start enjoying him as a _person_ as well… 

… But maybe he was asking for too much with that. Maybe he should just be grateful for what he had in this moment. 

“Well, I ought to get my own lunch. I wouldn’t want to eat all of yours, after all.” In all honesty Jon felt the urge to just keep eating, but it was his pride that caused him to stand up hastily, pushing his chair back in. “I’ll see you later, Martin.” His tone wasn’t nearly as harsh as it usually was, and Martin could feel his heart flutter at that, his face still tinged pink.

“Ri-right, see you-!”

He could hardly think about anything else for the rest of the day- this was the best he’d felt in a long, long time, probably years- replaying the scene over and over again in his mind as he tried to focus on research. The memory eventually evolved into a full-fledged daydream, staring blankly at his monitor as he fell deeper and deeper into fantasy...

_He was sitting on the table, Jon directly in front of him, having pushed the chair out of his way. The eyes of the archivist bore into him, his gaze intense and unbreaking as he drew closer, and Martin knew exactly what he wanted just from the look on his face- he was hungry, starving. Martin would be happy to let him take what he needed. No words needed to be spoken between them, no use for chatter between a consumer and his meal, after all._

_His breath hitched as he felt Jon’s hand on his skin, lifting his forearm to his mouth, never breaking eye contact with him. It was almost like a kiss at first, with just the gentlest scraping of teeth against his flesh, until he felt warmth pooling and running down his arm. The sight of Jon pulling away, teeth stained with his blood sent a shiver down his spine- he’d bitten a chunk out of his arm, but there was no pain, just heat. Just one bite wasn’t going to be enough to satisfy him though, but he didn’t mind. He couldn’t care less if Jon ate every last bit of him- the feeling of being loved made it all worthwhile._

_His chest was next, Jon’s nails digging into his sides as he bit down, drawing blood from both spots. He was only as harsh as necessary though, surprisingly slow and gentle in the way he tore the flesh off of his body. He could tell he was savoring the taste, licking the blood off his fingers and lips as he gazed up at his meal, though there was still quite a bit left spattered and smeared across his face. Who knew Jon was such a messy eater? He didn’t mind, of course. It was a rather captivating look on him._

_Martin could swear his teeth had grown sharper as he felt them sink into the junction of his neck and shoulder, starting to grow lightheaded at the blood loss as another portion of flesh was stripped from his bones. He wasn’t going to last much longer at this rate, and Jon knew that, pulling away from his neck to meet him at eye level at last, and Martin could smell the blood on his breath. He lifted a crimson-stained hand to cup his cheek as his breathing became ragged and slow, the blood on his hands still warm and comforting as he began to slip from consciousness.  
It was with a sense of finality that Jon kissed him, tasting copper as the world around him faded to black…_

Martin snapped out of his fantasy with a start as he tasted ink, having chewed so hard on the pen in his hand that he’d ended up breaking it, his entire body still feeling hot at the fleeting imagined sensation of Jon’s teeth on his skin. Christ… What was wrong with him, fantasizing about a thing like that? Maybe starting this was a mistake, knowing he would just keep wanting more and more, wanting Jon to eat more and more of him- but he couldn’t very well stop now, not when it left him feeling like that. He would keep chasing that dream, even if he knew just how unattainable it was.

\---

It had been a long while since he’d had to perform any self-mutilations, the amount he’d cut off before was sure to last him for at least two months or so, probably more, and seeing Jon consume and enjoy him was doing wonders for his self esteem. He was actually feeling good about himself for once, even if it was by means he was fully aware were disgusting- after all, it had become a habit for him to share some of his lunch with Jon now, spending more time with him than he ever could’ve hoped for before the Flesh. He felt like they might even be considered friends now, casually talking in the break room from time to time… Maybe something real with Jon wasn’t too far out of reach after all.

Old habits die hard, though, and self-deprecation and jealousy weren’t going anywhere anytime soon, it seemed. He couldn’t help his stare any time he would see Tim or Sasha talking to Jon, analyzing them, every bit of their body that was better than Martin’s. Tim’s tall, fit physique versus the shorter, lithe Sasha- they were both so beautiful, and neither of them looked anything like him. Why in the world would Jon ever choose him over them? Sure, he’d managed to cut off a lot from his arms and legs, but the more he looked at himself, the more he loathed what he’d left behind. How could Jon ever love someone who looked like him? His face was still round and chubby, his stomach still far bigger than he’d like it to be… He looked _awful._ He looked absolutely awful, and he had to _fix it._

It was a dangerous game he was playing, but if he was able to butcher himself previously without dying of blood loss, if he could regrow fingers and flesh so quickly, then… He should be able to do this without much trouble, right? What did he have to lose, anyways? If he died, at least he wouldn’t have to live years and years more without ever being loved, he wouldn’t have to endure any more of the burning self hatred he felt deep inside.

The tile floor beneath him was still tinted russet despite his cleaning, examining himself in the mirror as he held the knife that had grown all too comfortable in his grasp, tracing and mentally mapping out the areas he had to fix. The first order of business was his gut, of course, perhaps the center of his bodily repulsion. He wasn’t quite sure what he expected to happen as he dug the blade in the center just beneath his ribs and dragged it down, but the ensuing mess of organs that spilled from him left him feeling… Empty. Gratifyingly empty. Intestines, liver, kidneys, stomach- the more he pulled out and let drop to the floor the better he felt, cutting whatever he had to until the cavity below his lungs were nearly empty. 

There was no concern for how he was meant to function now, how he was supposed to eat- all he could see was a better body and plenty of fresh meat beneath him. It seemed like sausages would be the next thing on the menu... How good would these taste to Jon? How different would his organs taste from the meat on his limbs? Would he like it better? Or maybe… Maybe he would prefer ribs. A sickly smile cracked across his lips as he moved his hands upwards to his lungs, dropping the knife entirely as he fumbled in his excitement, prying desperately at the bones. Oh, ribs were so _messy-_ he could see it so clearly now, his bones between Jon’s fingers, tearing the flesh away from the white with his teeth, his blood on the corners of his mouth and all over his fingers- it was too good of an image to resist. 

The sound of bones cracking and blood dripping and wet meat squishing and dropping to the floor made his brain feel fuzzy, his breaths ragged, the breaths he sucked in having nowhere to go anymore as his chest was but an empty cavity now. It was perfect… _He was perfect._ It was so satisfying, to have destroyed the body he’d hated for so long, rid himself of those insides that always made him feel guilty, less-than. The sick ecstasy of tearing himself apart had faded into complete and utter calm as he stared at his reflection, bloodied fingers pulling his skin back over the gaping wound, stretching it until it was completely covered again. Scars still remained, almost resembling the lines on one of those charts showing the different cuts of steak on a cow, but he didn’t care. **He felt fantastic.**

\--- 

Jon didn’t typically pay that much attention to his coworkers, in all honesty. When there were stories of horror and monsters to be recorded and researched, it was hard not to get caught up in all of it and block out everything else, get lost in the seemingly endless connections and patterns. But when Martin came into work that morning, he knew there was something horribly wrong. 

He’d had his suspicions that maybe there was something going on with him- he’d seemed to lose quite a bit of weight in the span of what only could’ve been a day or two at most, and while that couldn’t be healthy, he figured it wasn’t any of his business. Then there was his newly formed habit of bringing lunches composed of almost entirely meat- meat that should be fairly expensive, for that matter- into work every day, offering to share it with him. Again, it was weird, but not particularly alarming. 

But this morning was different. The second Martin walked into his office to bring him tea, the distinct smell of blood hit him like a brick, despite there being no blood to be seen. If it were just that, maybe he could chalk it up to his mind playing tricks on him, but Martin himself looked… Drastically different. The usually baggy sweaters and just slightly too big slacks were gone, replaced by more form-fitting clothing and revealing just how much weight he’d lost. It was impossible to lose so much in such a short amount of time- it was to the point where it was almost unsettling, like he’d somehow shaved it all off, whittled it down like wood or a wax figure. Still, Martin himself was acting like absolutely nothing was wrong, in fact he seemed more upbeat than usual, smiling brightly at him as he set the teacup down on his desk. He could’ve sworn he saw a tinge of red on his teeth. 

“Oh, uh, good morning, Jon! I… hope I didn’t interrupt anything, haha…” Martin greeted him, kindly as ever, but there was something weird about his voice, about his laugh… About his breathing, even. He couldn’t quite place his finger on what was throwing him off, but it deeply unnerved him. There was a long pause where Jon just stared, before he managed to pull himself together, clearly frazzled.

“Er, no you didn’t- I wasn’t recording. Thank you, Martin.” He stammered out, before dismissing him as quickly as possible. He let out a heavy breath, leaning back in his chair as he tried to process everything- process all the _evidence._ What the hell was going on? He clearly needed to talk with him, even if it wasn’t anything… “Spooky”, as Tim would say, it was still a major health concern. Right… He decided he would call him into his office before he left work today, but first he had to get these statements done, looking back to his desk again- which is when he noticed the tape recorder had started running on its own. Maybe he was just being paranoid, but it seemed like it only turned on like that when something… Important was happening. Maybe he should do a little more investigating before he talked to him… Just to be safe. 

\--- 

Stalking his coworkers certainly wasn’t outside of Jon’s comfort zone. He’d spent some time outside of Tim’s house before, he’d followed Sasha on her lunch breaks to the wax museum, and neither of them were nearly as suspicious as Martin, so he had no qualms following him home later that week. In the days leading up to his little stakeout, the evidence only kept piling up- increasingly dodgy answers about how he’d lost all that weight, about how he could afford so much steak, and the scent of blood persisted every time he was near the other man. In Jon’s mind, that was more than enough to justify a little spying. 

Night had fallen by the time any activity started, the dark giving Jon ample cover as he watched through Martin’s kitchen window, grateful the tree he’d perched himself in gave him a perfect view while keeping him covered. Of course, even Jon himself thought the whole “hiding in a tree” thing was… A bit much, to say the least, but he _needed_ to get to the bottom of this, and he clearly wasn’t going to get any answers from just keeping an eye on him at work. 

An hour or two had passed with nothing unusual happening when he finally saw Martin enter the kitchen- presumably, to make dinner, as it was getting to that hour. Everything seemed fairly par for the course at first as he started to get some cooking equipment out, most notably a sausage grinder. Then it was time to prepare the food- Jon wasn’t sure what exactly he expected, but when Martin opened his fridge his eyes shot open wide and his stomach lurched, immediately overcome with horror at the sight. Nothing but red meat, all odd cuts clearly not done by a butcher, edges jagged with skin still intact- skin that looked suspiciously _human;_ suspiciously like Martin’s. As if that weren’t bad enough, what Martin pulled from the back of the fridge nearly caused him to vomit right there.

Jon was no doctor, but he knew for a _fact_ those were human intestines.

Still, he felt like he was frozen there, unable to tear his eyes away as he casually gathered the long string of meat and brought it over to the counter, staining it red as he began to feed it into the grinder, as if it were any other meat. He could see scars all up his arms as he rolled up his sleeves, like he’d sliced the flesh off- and it all clicked. This was how he’d lost so much weight overnight, and the meat in his fridge… He could feel the bile rise in the back of his throat as he remembered sharing lunch with him. Remembered how off it tasted. The realization of what he’d eaten hit him all at once, and he finally snapped out of his trance, nearly falling out of the tree as he scrambled to leave.

He barely remembered the walk home, his head still reeling from what he’d seen- as much as he didn’t want to believe that Martin had been mutilating himself and cooking his own flesh, there was no rational explanation. He was reminded of the statements about a butcher by the name of Jared Hopworth as he frantically tried to figure out how Martin could still be alive, along with several other… Meaty statements, recalling the gruesome tales of twisting bones and cannibalism, unending hunger… Did Martin have something to do with it? Had it been this way all along, or had he only recently gotten involved? Whatever the case, he knew one thing for damn sure: Martin Blackwood was no longer human. 

\---

In all honesty, Jon had a very hard time deciding on what he should do. He considered talking to Tim or Sasha about it, but why in the world would they believe him? They already thought he was going crazy, and telling them he stalked Martin and found out he was some kind of self-mutilating cannibal certainly wouldn’t reflect well on him. He could try to tell Elias, but he had little faith that he would be of much help, despite being the head of the institute, especially when he had no proof aside from his word and some of Martin’s unusual behavior. All he could think to do was actually confront Martin himself. He may be a monster, but… Despite this, he couldn’t imagine Martin actually attacking him, especially when all the harm he’d been doing was to himself. 

He couldn’t help from pacing nervously around his office as he waited for Martin, having told him to come see him at the end of the day, picking at his nails. The sound of the door opening filled him with dread, turning around with wide eyes to look at the man, the smell of blood still lingering and overpowering his senses. 

“Um, hi, Jon-” He stumbles over his words in a way that feels all too human now, his brows furrowed with anxiety. “What did you, uh, want to talk to me about?” 

“Sit down. And close the door behind you.” Jon responded sharply, straightening his back and trying to hide his own fear as he made his way back over to his desk. Martin quickly nodded, almost having the look of a puppy who’d been scolded as he did as he was told. It was disarming enough that for a moment he wavered, doubting himself, but he knew what he saw. He knew he hadn’t imagined it, and he knew he wasn’t imagining that damn _smell._

There was a pause as Jon gathered his nerves again, before he looked up at the other over the frames of his glasses, his voice sounding much more… commanding than he expected it to. Not that he was complaining. “You’ve lost a lot of weight recently, haven’t you?”

“Er- yeah, I- I have? You noticed?” Jon could tell that he was conflicted on whether to be nervous or flattered that he’d noticed the change, but he was about to figure that out soon enough.

“How did you lose it, Martin? You lost it far too fast to be the result of working out or a diet.” His tone is cold, confident, making it clear to the other that he already had a pretty damn good idea of just how it happened. He could see his shoulders tense at that, eyes wide with fear. He could practically see the gears turning in his head as he fumbled for an explanation.

“Well, uh, you see it’s this- it’s this surgery-“

“You and I both know you can’t afford that.” 

He stands up suddenly, marching to where Martin was sat and grabbing his arm, rolling up the sleeve before he could even react. Just as he expected, while his arms weren’t bandaged anymore, just from the abnormal shape, the unnatural dips and bumps and parts where he swore the skin was just covering solid bone, it was clear what he’d done.

He can only look at it for a second before Martin jerks away, though, yanking his sleeve back down as soon as he was free from Jons grasp. “What the- what did you do that for?!”

 _“... I saw you,_ Martin. Last night. I saw what you’ve been… cooking.” Jon admitted in a low voice, staring the other down and trapping him in his gaze, watching his face go pale. “That’s what’s been in your lunches, isn’t it? That’s what you’ve been having me eat?” 

The shame Martin feels is plain to see, swallowing hard as cold sweat beaded up on his forehead. “I-... I’m sorry, Jon, I… I don’t know what’s wrong with me lately-“

“I don’t want your apologies.” He snapped, moving back to his desk before grabbing the tape recorder- which, funnily enough, appeared to already be running. “I want an _explanation_ before I hear anything else.”

There’s a beat of silence as Martin just stares at him like a deer caught in headlights, blinking in confusion. “What, you… You want me to make a _statement?”_ He questioned incredulously, shrinking back into his seat.

“This is clearly supernatural, and given the nature of this, it’s obvious you’re something akin to… Jared Hopworth and the like.” It’s hard not to cringe just remembering those statements, but he kept his gaze focused on him as he set the recorder down in the middle of the desk. “So before I do anything else about this… _Tell me your story.”_

As much as Martin wanted to just run away, something in Jon's voice **compelled** him, causing him to nod without a second thought. “... Yes, of course.”

“Right. Now then...” He feels strangely satisfied as he starts, his voice dipping into the usual narrating tone he always used. _“Statement of Martin Blackwood, regarding…”_ He looked up at him expectantly, prompting him to answer.

“Er… Supposedly fatal self-mutilations, and... the resulting incidents of self-cannibalism.”

_**“Statement begins.”** _


End file.
